They said
by iguanablogger
Summary: They said he was a demon, who killed for sport. Why didn't she believe them? Ezio x OC oneshot, no romance. May seem a bit Mary Sue at first, but just read it through...Trust me, no Mary Sue ends like this.


They said he was a demon- one who flees from any who would fight him fairly.

But here she saw him on his own, protecting himself from the blows of an enemy who clearly outnumbered him.

They said such a creature was incapable of pity or remorse- who kills without mercy.

But she watched as he disarmed the guards time and time again, merely rendering them unconscious where he could have easily killed them.

They said he kills for sport, enjoys mangling bodies in such a viscous manner.

With her own two eyes she saw him give ten gold florins to the begging child who longed for a good meal on the street corners while all other respectable people passed.

They said anyone who aided the assassin was themselves worthy of death by noose.

She didn't care.

After all the good deeds she had witnessed, it would be against all religion, all law, all RIGHTS, to let the wounded man who had stumbled to her home die. The healer moved quickly to his crumpled form and dragged him inside by the illumination of the full moon. It was no easy task- the man was clearly bigger than she was. She shuddered as second thoughts ran through her. A man of his strength could do anything he pleased with women around him. That was what the heralds preached, what she heard each day when she went to the markets. But she wouldn't believe it. She had witnessed the truth.

Breathing heavily, she grunted as she finally managed to flop him onto her father's examination table. He had come to see him with a sword injury that would have killed a weaker man on the spot. The assassin could not have known that her father would not be in now. Only the healer's daughter, his only child, would have known where he was going for the weekend. A vacation, he had referred to it as with a chuckle. She had smiled and nodded.

Blood broke her from the memory- blood; wet crimson and sticky. She was of marriageable age, but her father thought it best she know the secrets of his craft. You never know what might happen, he said. Yes, how could she have known this would happen.

She worked as quickly as she could. With an injury, time is always of the essence. She clumsily undid what part of his robes had not been devastated by the sword blow. The slash had been directed at his heart, but seemed to have missed and landed on his chest- moving down in a diagonal path to his hip. It was deep, and to her horror some of his inner tissue was actually exposed. Throwing aside the blush and hormones that came to her as she disposed of his clothing; she grabbed a pail and ran outside. Canal water wasn't the cleanest, but it was the only thing she would be able to reach in time. She grabbed the hem of her dress and sprinted down to the canal. She earned herself a few strange looks as she dumped the pail in and brought it up as soon as it was full. The thing weighed a good twenty five pounds. Gasping, she lugged the metal bucket back to the Doctor's office as hastily as she could, taking pains not to spill any of the special liquid.

As she reentered the room she carelessly lit a few more candles and pulled a stool up to the table. She bit her lip as the patient emitted a moan of agony. She had never seen something so horrific. The exposed organs, the stench of sweat and blood, the terrible noises he made to muffle his screams of pain. She shook her head to clear these thoughts and focused on everything her father had taught her. She snatched a sponge from the shelf behind her and dunked it in the water. As soon as it filled, she yanked it out and began outlining the slash with streams of water. She felt his breath catch and his muscles tighten as she touched the water to the wound. She was simply cleaning out dirt and sweat- it shouldn't hurt. After the wound was clean, she took a deep breath and ran down to the cellar. She didn't want to use any of her father's medicinal alcohol; she didn't want him to find out about this. She emerged from the basement with a common bottle of wine. She clumsily tore off the cork and poured the substance onto a cloth. She bit her lip, thinking before she pressed the cloth to the wound. She leaned closer to the unconscious man and traced his pained expression with a finger.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, tears of fright edging her eyes, "but this is going to hurt a lot."

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the cloth into the cut and began dragging it down, making sure to rub the disinfectant in. At first, he merely gasped and grunted. But when she pressed especially hard, he screamed. The sound tore at her ears and caused her to jerk her arm back as if his body had caught fire. She never wanted to see another person suffer so badly. Especially not one she knew did not deserve to. He couldn't, not after all the things she'd seen him do. He was like an angel, she thought, a hero to all people of Italy. How naïve she was.

After an eternity, the disinfecting was over. She sighed, letting out the stone air she'd been keeping in. The next part would be easier, but not by much. She'd had experience stitching (she smiled to herself at how she had helped a small boy who had cut his knee running in the street) but this would be something new entirely. She whirled around and grabbed the thread and scissors from the shelf. She took deep breaths, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she began to weave the thread in and out, closing the vast wound slowly. When she was halfway done, she glanced up at his face- it was blank. Eyes widening, she pressed her head to his chest. Nothing. Her mouth fell open, tears filled her vision, and she began shaking uncontrollably.

"You can't die!" She yelled at him, hardly understanding what she was saying, "you CAN'T die!"

She didn't know what to do- this had never happened before. This was new. So when one doesn't know what do, how can one know if what they are doing is wrong? Without even thinking, she pressed her hands down on his chest as hard as she could, willing the lungs underneath to suck in air. She hit him again and again, putting her whole weight into it. She felt a spark, a flutter underneath. Hope filled her until it streamed from her ears. Then she had a wild idea- based on what her father had told her and things she had read in anatomy books, it could work…

Throwing all emotions out the window, her mind suddenly realized what she would have to do to save his life. She took a deep breath, pried his mouth open with two fingers and connected her lips with his, sending a rush of air into his body. She waited a few seconds and then did it again. She heard him cough and felt his muscles begin to contract slightly. When it was done she let her emotions return. Disbelief came first- disbelief that she had brought a dead man back to life. Then came hope, happiness, and relief. As soon as he moaned and struggled to open his eyes, she hastily returned to the stitching, finishing quickly, but accurately. Then she turned around once more, almost jumping with joy, and grabbed a round bottle from the shelf. She unscrewed the cap and stuck her fingers inside where a thick, creamy white paste clung to them. She smeared the sticky stuff along the wound, then turned again and retrieved a roll of bandages. Using the scissors she took earlier, she cut a colossal strip (turned out to be much more than she needed) and wrapped it around, making sure it stuck cleanly to the adhesive. There, she thought, putting down her materials and sighing tiredly as the adrenaline began to leave her, all finished. She eyed her work with pride- for an apprentice doctor, she had done a fine job. The bandaging was done a bit messily, but it got the job done. He would be in a lot of pain when he moved, no doubt, but after a few days of rest he could be back on his feet. She sighed again, letting a smile break out on her face like the sun after a thunderstorm. She glanced down at her hands- they were stained nearly every color imaginable- mostly deep crimson, from the blood, but also white from the cream, fuchsia from the wine, clots of dirt and rust from the pail added an orange-brown.

She didn't notice he was looking at her. His mind was filled with mist and nothing came out clear, but he saw one thing before he faded back into darkness. An angelic face, smiling in pure happiness, surrounded by the dim aura of candlelight…

The examination table was not the most comfortable place to spend the night. She bit her lip, knowing that in the small home she and her father shared there were not many places for a guest to sleep. Also, she knew her father would be returning in a few days, and she wasn't sure how quickly the Assassin would recover. If he came home and found the two sitting around chatting he might get the wrong idea. This thought caused the healer's daughter to blush uncomfortably and tug at a stray curl near her ear. Sighing, she decided he could sleep in her bed for the night and she could sleep on the floor with some blankets…he would need the soft mattress more than she would, in his current state. She nodded at this, but then grimaced as she paced back in forth, trying to figure out how on earth she would move him all the way from the examination table through the kitchen across the hall past the bathroom and into her bedroom. All without disturbing his hastily closed wound. She scratched the back of her scalp nervously. This would be a little more than uncomfortable, seeing as they were nearly the same age and of opposite sexes…

She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves as a small plan formulated. Carefully, she positioned his body so that he was slowly sliding off the table. She crouched next to the legs and folded the hem of her skirt, so she would move more easily. After a few nerve-splitting seconds, his body finally tumbled from the sturdy wood and thudded onto her back. The sudden addition of over 150 pounds caused her to gasp and then slam her nose to the floor as his larger form smothered her like the shadow of a hawk over a rabbit. Grunting, she lifted her bottom so he slid more over her shoulder and his arms dangled over her neck. Carefully, she wrapped his arms around her and slowly stood up. His weight made it impossible to stand upright, but she could at the very least hunch over. As she slowly shuffled her away into the kitchen, she found herself growing a deeper and deeper shade of pink. His head was right by her cheek- she could feel the rhythm of his gentle breathing on her face, causing her hair to stand on end. As she made her way past their miniscule bathroom her muscles began to strain and snap. Her neck and back burned from being bent for so long, and her legs were wobbling from the un-even distribution. Finally, her broom-cupboard bedroom approached from around the corner. Groaning in exhaustion, she banged her head into the thin wooden door, causing it to spring back. She made it to her bed just as she felt him slipping off. With only one more foot to go, she went back on her heel, spun around and flopped onto her bed, face up. She heard him moan quietly as her shoulder dug into his stitching, but she was too exhausted to pay much attention. She panted and removed his arms from her neck, her chest heaving with each breath.

"Phew!" She gasped, wiping her brow and closing her eyes, just resting a moment. She yawned and adjusted her head comfortably on his chest.

Her head on his chest.

She yelped and jumped up, fatigue forgotten. She still breathed heavily as blood rushed to her face to fulfill her hormone's desires. That was the closest she'd ever been to a man. She groaned and face palmed hopelessly- she was beginning to think it was only a matter of time before she fell for the Assassin as the rest of Venice already had. She shook her head and reminded herself why she was actively risking her life to protect his. He was the Assassino- who stole from the rich and gave to the poor.

No wait, that was Robin Hood.

He was the one who hunted down those who had betrayed him and his family. The enemy who continued to betray ordinary people, killing and enslaving innocents. Ruling over the weak and slaying any who opposed them. No one but this one young man had the courage to stand up to them and fight for her and her people. No one had told her this- she'd seen it with her own eyes. Her father had always said that hearing is one thing- seeing is another. He's the one who told her: "Your body will not lie to you. Other bodies will." She'd never quite understood that statement until now, she realized. Sighing, she elected it would be best to let the Assassin rest from his traumatic night for now. With a yawn, she suddenly realized how late in the night it was and how tired she had become. For a moment she turned back to her bed- half a second later she remembered it was occupied. She didn't dare sleep in her father's bed. Shrugging, she opened her tiny closet and pulled out the spare blanket the kept there. She smiled and closed her eyes as she brought the thick quilt to her nose and sniffed. Her aunt had knit it for her when she was small- it still smelled of the familiar perfume. She laid it on the plank floor and returned to the closet for a moment, pulling out a thin sheet to cover herself with. Then she unbuttoned her dress and folded it nicely at the foot of her bed.

Wearing only her white nightgown, she curled up in her make-shift cot, sighing happily as she wandered off to sleep in a land that smelled of good memories.

She was rudely awakened by a foot a few hours later. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut tighter as a large boot brought itself down on her shoulder. Finding that the thin muscle was not very supportive, it quickly slipped off. She blinked sleepily as she felt another boot step on the soft fabric of the quilt she slept on. In the dark she could only make out the outline of the leather material. Gasping, she curled up in fear- who was in her bedroom late at night? Why was she on the floor? Was she in danger?

Suddenly it all came back- her father leaving, the herald's lies, the loud knocks at the door, opening it to find the Assassin, bleeding to death, cleaning the wound, his screaming-

She stopped there. That was something she didn't want to remember. But she frowned as his other foot nudged around her body, trying to get the lay of the room in the pitch-blackness of night. He shouldn't be walking- she thought. That would cause the muscles by his stomach to tense and possibly-

A moan of agony interrupted her rapid theorizing and she heard the springs in her bed tense as a large amount of weight was quickly dropped on them. She waited for a few moments- moments filled with ragged breaths and grunts of pain. Then, slowly…the sharp inhalations gave way to smooth breaths and the bed stopped squeaking as the body upon it grew relaxed. Smiling sweetly, she realized he must have fallen back asleep. She giggled- how cute! It only lasted a second before she mentally began pummeling herself. She was about to return to dreamland actually when something flew down from the bed and missed her head by a millimeter. It was- yes, a foot. Glancing up in irritation, she noticed his leg was dangling off her bed in a peculiar manner. Twisting her neck more, she saw his right arm was also hanging off, causing his hand to swing gently by her hair. She frowned- he definitely chose strange sleeping positions. Gingerly, she moved his foot so it would not be endangering her head and retreated deeper into her quilt, sighing herself back to sleep.

She made it a point to wake up before he did. She didn't want him attempting to escape- that would be bad, she mused. She had made a note also to study more while he rested about the type of wound she had encountered. So- at the crack of the first rooster's crow, she peeled back the sheet and rolled off the quilt, stretching quietly. She could barely see the Assassin's silhouette by the sun's first strokes. She suppressed a laugh- his right arm and leg were hanging off the bed while his left arm pulled at the top of his hood and his left leg was folded up quite amusedly. His head was angled down so his chin rested on the top of his chest, causing his hood to slide up and down with his breathing. Then she shook her head, reminding herself how close to the grave this man had been. She tiptoed to the foot of her bed and quietly pulled on her dress, forever grateful that she had actually listened to her father when he advised her not to buy the ridiculously complicated dresses that had somehow surfaced to fashionable. She was about to leave, but paused thoughtfully at the door. Nodding at her sudden idea, she picked up her quilt off the floor and draped it over the sleeping killer. She carefully climbed over him on her bed and dropped the shades of her bedroom window, plunging the room into darkness. Then, she turned back, using memory to guide herself, and pulled the secret key she kept in one of the splinters of the door. She grinned to herself as she exited her room. Her father didn't know that she had installed a lock in her door. The only thing that granted her security that she was truly alone- when she was smaller she would lock herself away with all her favorite books, content knowing that there was nothing her father could do to get her to come out. She hesitated as she turned the key in the lock. This was the Assassino we were talking about- a small, homemade lock on a cardboard door would probably not delay him for long. But, she harrumphed, he needed to rest, and rest he would. She would bring him water and some biscotti so he would still have nutrition, but this was the fastest way to nurse him back to assassinating status. With newfound determination, she trotted off to the bathroom to wash her face her brush her thick, dusty brown hair.

The assassin was quiet for most of the day. The whole morning she found herself reading- studying diligently of different types of sword-inflicted wounds, and what should happen to these wounds if they are not properly disinfected. She began to find herself worrying about whether or not she had disinfected his wound properly, but grew confident when she reviewed the steps in her notebook. She had done everything right- beaming, her father would be proud.

She was not aware, of course, that he was watching her. He had woken up some time around noon, his body still sore but refreshed at the long hours of rest. He had planned to escape during the night, but found himself stopped by an un-scalable wall of pain. He had spent a nice amount of time cursing himself for not being strong enough to tear himself away from this home before his enemies grew suspicious and slaughtered the residents. But now that he was fully awake he studied the unfamiliar room he found himself in oddly. It belonged to a girl, he noted, glancing at the simple-looking dresses that dripped from the closet and the stack of notebooks on the wooden dresser. He put one foot hesitantly on the ground, careful not to step on the squishy thing he had encountered last night. Glancing down however, he noticed it was no longer there. Realization kicked in as he recognized a home-made sleeping bag. He was sleeping in her bed- she was sleeping on the floor. He found himself amazed by the bounds of human kindness- this only made him more desperate to get away. Her lock amused him momentarily. Picking it took him about half a second, but the message had gotten through. He chuckled as he fingered the remains of the lock delicately. It was clear it was homemade- he toyed with the idea that she had made it especially to see he did not try to escape her room. He also noted that the blinds had been slit shut, even though the sun was beautiful in the Venetian noon. And by the spike of pain that nailed its way through him with every step he took, he figured he was not quite healed yet. He slipped past the door silently and approached the foyer. Eagle vision revealed it was occupied- a small blue wisp sat comfortably in one of the chairs by the bookshelf, completely engrossed in the large dusty tome it was poring over. He recognized the kitchen he had passed, though he had only seen it once. From there he also stole a glance at a doctor's examination room. The clean table seemed familiar as well- then he remembered. The chase down the alleyway, the shock of the barricade up ahead, the terrible hacking sound as the blade sliced clean through his flesh, spraying his blood everywhere, the struggle across the rooftops, the curses he muttered when he ran out of medicine, the blurry search for a doctor…

He frowned. He had been coming to the same doctor for too many visits. He recognized the man as kind and gentle, and who seemed to know all about him. He asked no questions about how such a man received such grievous wounds, and readily supplied him with a pack containing a bottle of disinfectant and bandages every week to take care of smaller injuries. However, scanning the rest of the small house with his sixth sense, he quickly surmised his friend was not home. Also, he had noted the stitching and bandaging around his midsection was done quite amateurly. Eyebrows raised, he figured he could've done a better job himself. He wondered then who the girl who had saved him was. A friend, perhaps? She was too young to be his wife- but then again, in the society he lived in…

The Assassin shrugged and resolved to deal with it later. He sneaked a few snacks from the kitchen and returned to the bedroom, being careful not to alarm the figure in the living room. He knew he was not well enough to leave completely, but he needed to get outside. A man as free as himself does not take well to being confined to such a small space for so long. It didn't take him long to take the window apart, and, promising to fix it later, he climbed out and went for a quiet stroll along the Venice rooftops.

It was strange, how he seemed to get around without her knowing. Like he was a ghost, who merely floated everywhere without making any sound or leaving anything behind. She gulped and considered the words the words of the herald again- inhuman, demon. But she shook her head and cleared these doubts. No, he couldn't be a demon. Demons are not kind or brave or sweet or charitable. After receiving a few more patients late in the evening, the day was finally closing for the young doctor. She was quite puzzled when she sat down to eat supper and found that an entire batch of biscotti was missing. However her suspicions that the assassin might've been ethereal were dismissed when she found a trail of crumbs leading back to her bedroom. She giggled at this stupid mistake- how someone so serious and so deadly could make a mistake as simple as leaving a trail of breadcrumbs…

When she returned to her bed that night she was glad to see it was occupied. She was afraid he would have run off during the day. She was embarrassed to admit she would miss him if he did, even though she had only seen a bit of him since she had operated. She would have liked to speak with him before he left, and tell him how much she appreciated what he did for Italy.

Therefore she was very disappointed when she woke the next morning. She had planned to wake up before him again- but it didn't happen this time. At the crack of dawn she rolled out of her cot again, but her bed was already emptied. She blushed at how nicely the pillows and blankets had been arranged- as though it was a prince's bed rather than a small doctor's daughter. However it was what she found on her dresser that surprised her the most: a note and a small pouch. She approached the pouch and lifted it gingerly. At its weight she gasped, and her eyes widened at the noise it made. The pouch was full of coins! She clumsily opened it and poured the money out, counting hastily. One hundred fifty! That was seventy extra than what her father charged him normally! Her first instinct was to find the Assassin and inform him what a horrible miscalculation he had made- but it was obvious he'd done this on purpose. For what purpose, she couldn't imagine though. She scanned the note, which had been penned in remarkable Italian, handwriting be-fitting a noble or banker. The note spoke of gratitude for the service she had done him, and apologies for the burdens he had caused. It also carried a warning- that she should not try to find him. She scowled but nodded, agreeing to the invisible terms. She knew she didn't have to find him- her father would know where he was sure enough. Sighing, she finally accepted the Assassin's disappearance and began to move on with her day. She pulled on her dress and stumbled to the bathroom. She lifted her small bronze hand-mirror to do her hair and almost dropped it in shock. There was something tucked by her ear that she had most certainly not put there! Pulling the glass closer to her face, she peered at the dark blue flower in wonder- such a beautiful color that brought out the soft cerulean of her eyes. The more she gazed at it, the more she noticed the colors rapidly filling her cheeks as well, as she realized who must have put it there. The small plant was tucked affectionately behind her ear, light brown strands winding around it beautifully. She smiled and patted it gingerly. She decided she would keep it.

Today was the day father returned. It had only been a week, but she missed him terribly. She had taken the money and, finally accepting that she was NOT going to find the assassin to give it back, bought herself a pretty new dress, just the way her father liked it. Not too long, not too short, not too bland, not too fancy. She giggled and twirled around in the mirror, enjoying the moment. She had done her hair in a pretty half-pony and kept the blue flower tucked behind her ear. She had even considered putting on make-up, but then, thoughtfully concluded that might be over-reacting. He was her father, not her boyfriend. She shuddered at THAT ugly thought. She was sitting around the foyer, arranging the pillows on the couch neatly when the knocks came. She squealed and ran to the door, jerking it open. Her father stood there grinning, plague mask tucked under one arm and a large bag in the other. She squeaked excitedly and pulled him inside, where he swallowed her into a bear hug. She carried in her father's bags as the older man sat down tiredly on the couch, smiling warmly. She asked him about everything- how the weather was, how the people were, did he buy anything, how were the other doctors, what happened there, what happened here, did you see anyone we know-

The father and daughter talked for hours, exchanging laughs and stories. Finally, he told her to look in the big bag he had brought in himself. She poked at it gingerly and even tried to pick it up. The thing weighed over twenty pounds! It was like trying to pick up a small child. He laughed and merely told her to take a peek inside. Frowning, she did so.

The bag was stuffed with books- LOTS of books.

She squealed in delight and hugged her father, hopping up and down with glee. Scanning over some of the titles, she knew they were her favorite- lots of fantasy tales, poetry, and even some anatomy study books. Some of them were even into the study of ancient language. Hardly controlling her excitement, she begged to be excused to her room to get started. Her father chuckled and gave her permission. She scooped a handful of fantasy books out of the bag and skipped down the hall to her room. She closed the door and tried to lock it, only to find her lock mangled. She frowned at the loss of her home-made contraption, but then smiled- she wouldn't mind if her father interrupted her reading today. She hopped onto her nicely made bed, opened up a book entitled '_La bella e la bestia' _and began chapter one.

She awoke to the sound of muffled shouting. Blinking sleepily, she peeled the book off her face and sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She shook her head to clear the sleep haze and the shouting grew understandable. She recognized her father's voice and suddenly grew tense. Sliding off her bed, she hurried to the door and slipped through the crack, being careful not to make a sound. She snuck into the kitchen just as her father stopped speaking and another voice began. A much quieter voice, but cold as ice. It made a shiver move down her spine and she shuddered just listening to it. It was obviously not one she recognized- not to mention the fact that her father almost never shouts. She frowned in confusion as the speaker used words she couldn't understand- 'Assassin', and 'Templar', and 'Eden'… but soon these words faded and a different meaning arose. She listened in horror as she heard the clanking of metal boots and the tinting of swords in their scabbards. The quiet man was arresting her father for helping a known criminal. Her father denied he had done any such thing- the other man replied smoothly that there was a witness who saw the Assassin enter his home. Father tried to defend himself, using every tactic he knew. She found herself close to tears as she realized she had caused this. But biting her lip, she realized that she and her father could easily both be to blame, as he helped the young killer nearly as much as she had. Suddenly there was a new sound- the scratch of a sword being unsheathed. She heard her father yelling and ran to the examination room, fear gripping her completely. She arrived a moment too late- her eyes widened in horror as the sword proceeded cleanly through her father's stomach all the way through his back. She wished she did not know how many organs, tissues and bones had been severed in this one simple act. She wish she could have done something, anything as the one person in the world that mattered to her fell to the ground. But she couldn't move. A terrified gasp escaped her and she found her limbs would not respond. Her brain went numb and for a moment she thought she would faint on the spot. She hardly heard the order to end her life, was only mildly aware that she was backing away slowly from the armored man advancing on her. She didn't feel it when her heel snagged on the back of her dress and she thudded onto her bottom, scooting away from her killer. The back of her head touched something, and in horror she realized it was the examination table. She was stuck- stuck for good. The man stood over her and held the sword poised over her stomach- the same place her father had been stabbed in only moments ago. She looked up at his eyes, the only human trait visible under all the steel and leather. She pleaded with him silently, but his eyes held only pity and grief. He shook his head slowly.

The order was repeated and this time a message was tagged on the end: "There is no mercy when you cross a Templar".

With one last pitiful glance, the sword plunged into her abdomen with such force it pinned her to the wood floor underneath her. The pain overwhelmed her systems so suddenly she lost consciousness.

When she awoke it was to the sound of heavy footsteps. At first she thought it was her mother, then her father. Slowly she remembered that both were now dead- which saddened her. But she smiled knowing that she would be joining them soon. Her senses worked, although barely. Her fingers twitched and felt something warm and wet all around her. Blood, she thought, my blood. It was quite a bit, she continued, impressed. The footsteps grew louder and then stopped. Her eyes fluttered open and the light was blinding. She was only able to squint at the form that towered over her, blocking out some of the light. It knelt down, closer to her face and she recognized it. From far away she felt herself being lifted up, close to something warm. This brought more of her back from death and for a few moments she saw everything as though she were as alive as she was this morning.

The Assassin held her in his arms, sharing his warmth with her rapidly cooling body. He knew she was dying a slow death. He had never allowed his victims a slow, painful death- another trait the Templars lacked. He stroked her hair, and the flower he had placed there last night. She looked up at him in the most innocent gaze he had ever seen. Her blue eyes reflected peace, a mood that was also reflected by her limp body. He had come by for some medicine, but already knew something was wrong as the door was wide open. Walking in, it was bad enough he found the doctor's mangled body, but even worse to find his daughter's. She looked so beautiful today, but now- skin pale, lips blue, blood pooled all around her…

His sadness was soon replaced with fury. What could his enemies possibly gain from murdering an innocent girl? One with such a promising future...

She realized that if she was ever going to tell him, it was going to be now. Literally now or never. She cleared her dry throat and parted her blue lips to speak, a movement that caught his attention rather rapidly.

"I…" She breathed, "want you to know…How much…I appreciate…what you do…for…all of us…"

He smiled at her, a sad, bitter smile. Her breathing was quite shallow now, nearly undetectable. She was so glad to be able to spend her final moments with him, if anyone at all. Too soon, his face became too bright to see and the light his figure had been blocking out overcame her. The assassin and his hold on her disappeared as she ran into the waiting arms of her parents, who laughed with joy upon their reunion. She was a little girl again, and as the three of them walked off into the brightness, she turned away and waved goodbye to the Assassin, hoping briefly he would see her.

He felt her body grow stiff and the light in her blue eyes dimmed, though still she smiled at him. He moved his hand over her face, closing her eyes peacefully.

"_non vi preoccupate,_ _lo distruggero chi te l'ha fatta. Requiescat in pace." _


End file.
